


On the shore of our loneliness

by madbrilliant84



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Scotland, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 11:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16283558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madbrilliant84/pseuds/madbrilliant84
Summary: When Arthur needed to get away from everyone, the Outer Hebrides seemed just far enough. Little did he know that in one of the loneliest places on earth he'd make a very special acquaintance.





	On the shore of our loneliness

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually meant for Inceptiversary Bingo but life happened and I couldn't finish it in time. Right now I'm sitting at home with a cold and maybe this is the right time to finish this. Was originally planned as something short and sweet and very quickly turned into long and melancholy instead. Oh well :D Will try to post the second part very soon.
> 
> I apologize to all the native Scots who read this and are appaled at my attempt to write in the regional dialect. Please forgive me! I also tried to research the history of the Kelpie as much as possible but there seem to be different tales and lores so it might not be very accurate.
> 
> Disclaimer: None of Christopher Nolan's characters belong to me. I'm just playing with them. Unbeta'd and therefore full of mistakes. Rating for later chapters.

Deep greens, shining gold and orange tones, lakes that mirrored the sky’s – well, to be honest – more greys than blues, passed Arthur by as he was looking out of his train window. He’d been initially excited that his route from Glasgow to Oban would take him through the Loch Lomond National Park. And it was still absolutely beautiful out there on an early autumn day. But Arthur couldn’t really appreciate it right now. His head hurt from too many single malts drunk alone in a pub, of which he couldn’t remember the name. „Mare’s Head” maybe? They all seemed to be called either after animal heads or obscure members of the royal classes. Arthur didn’t really care though. He had just wanted to drink through his jet-lag and shut up his mind before he went to bed. He might have overdone it a little. Okay, a lot. Hangover was too small a word for how he was feeling today and it didn’t help that he was looking at a 5 hour-ferry-ride once he got off this train. Spending a week on the Outer Hebrides suddenly seemed like the worst idea he ever had. But he needed this break, needed to get away from everything, from life, for a while. He found these Scottish isles when he googled „holiday without human contact” and was smitten with the landscape. It really looked like there wasn’t a soul out there. The ideal place to disappear. So he told his boss last week that he was taking time off („Fucking finally!” had been his answer) and hopped on a plane first to London and then onwards to Glasgow, where he dropped his bag at a hotel and preceded to get utterly shitfaced. And now he was here, being driven through one of the most beautiful places on earth, trying not to vomit in a carriage full of people drinking tea and eating sandwiches. God knows how he was supposed to survive the boat ride.

Barely as it turned out. The waters were choppy and it didn’t help that everyone around him seemed to be already on the lager. Arthur stayed on deck despite the wind and drizzle and held on to his water bottle like it was a life raft. He’d managed to eat some salted chips (or „crisps“, as everyone here seems to call them) but it didn’t really help to settle his stomach. And since he forgot to bring any Dramamine there was no choice but to bear the full-on brunt of his stupid decisions. Mind you, there had been quite a couple of those lately. He just hoped that traveling to the end of the fucking world wasn’t one of them. 

Before he’d set out on this trip Arthur had booked a room at a hunting and fishing estate. Not that he was much into either of these things but the house (more like a glorified cottage than an estate) had looked cozy and it was right by a lake. Maybe he’d try to catch a trout or two. He used to go fishing with his grandpa when he was little and it always looked really calming to him. Yeah, maybe he’d try his hand at that. If he’d ever stop feeling like he’d been put into a tumble-dryer.

The booking confirmation had told him that he was going to get picked up at the docks by the gamekeeper, a guy called Iain. And sure enough, there was a rather weathered looking man with a flat cap and a ginger beard standing there waving a sign with his name on it. What a cliché Arthur thought at first but then berated himself. It wouldn’t do to be unfriendly from the get-go. Iain, the Inn-Keeper/cook Fiona and one other guest would be the only people he’d likely have contact with for the next 8 days. And there wasn’t another ferry back before then, so he figured he’d better play nice although he really didn’t feel like exchanging pleasantries right now.

He waved at the man and Iain immediately made his way over to him, relieving him of his bag with a smile and a firm handshake.

„Welcome! Ye main be Arthur. Ah hiner th' joorney wisnae tay bad.“

“Uhm…,” Arthur stalled, having not really understood a word the guy had just said to him. Except „welcome”. „Thanks, I guess?” he offered with a tentative smile.

Iain let out a bellowing laugh. „Sorry, lad. I’ll try ma best ta keep it comprehensible for ya.”

„Thanks. I’m just not used to all these regional accents. Struggled to understand the barman yesterday.”

„Well,” Iain said with a grin, “looks like he still served ya. Or was it the ferry that dinna agree with ya?”

Arthur sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. „That bad, eh?”

“Nah,” Iain waved him off. “Seen worse ‘round ‘ere. Come on.”

Arthur followed him to his Jeep. Thankfully, Iain either wasn’t as chatty as he seemed at first or he guessed that Arthur wasn’t really up for small talk, yet. Either way, Arthur was grateful for the lack of conversation during the ride. The houses of the little harbor town soon fell away and after ten minutes or so, all Arthur could see were rugged landscapes. He wouldn’t have been surprised if a Celtic tribe or some Vikings would have come over a hill. He hadn’t realized that he’d dozed off when the car came to a halt, jerking him awake.

„Time to wake up, lad.” Iain said and jumped out of the Jeep. Arthur realized that the guy was probably a little younger than he had thought at first. Late thirties rather than late forties. Guess that’s what happens, when you spend most of your time outside come rain or shine. Maybe he’d get some weather induced lines as well while he’s here. People always told him he had a babyface. At least they did before worry seemed to have edged itself into his features permanently.

The house looked charming, just like in the pictures. The typical white walls and dark thatched roof that was so common around here. There were two floors, the upper one probably for the guest rooms and smoke came out of a chimney. Arthur followed Iain inside where it smelled lovely of fresh bread and burning coals and something that must be on the stove in the kitchen.

„Fiona!” Iain bellowed. „Gie yer erse doon haur. Ah hae returned wi' th' American.”

Again, Arthur could only vaguely guess, what the man was shouting about but it didn’t take long until he heard someone running down the stairs. A moment later a woman in jeans and a checked flannel shirt appeared, her hair a mess of strawberry blonde curls; freckles seemed to cover every inch of here beaming face. Arthur was instantly charmed.

„Oh hi!” Fiona said, grabbing his hand shaking it vigorously. Her accent wasn’t half as bad as the gamekeeper’s. „Welcome to the Cadenhead Estate. Ye must be Arthur! I’m Fiona, the boss and the chef around here. And you’ve already met my husband.” Ah, so that’s how it was.

„I have indeed. He gave me a nice welcome although I must have looked like death warmed over.”

Fiona looked at him with concern. „Oh nooo! Did the sea na agree with ya?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, I might have just looked a little too deep into a bottle of very fine single malt last night. It was my own fault really.”

Fiona laughed merrily at that. „Ah, that’s a problem we’re very familiar around ‘ere. I hope ya still hungry though, because I’ve made ma special venison stew. It’ll sort ya right out.”

Arthur’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food which made Iain laugh. Guess he got through the worst of the hangover.

„Fiona, ha’ mercy with the lad and feed ‘im instead of talking his ears off!”, Iain joked. He turned to Arthur: „Come on, Arthur. A show ya to yer room.“

Arthur followed him upstairs when Fiona called after him: „If ya want, A can bring yer food upstairs. Ya must be exhausted, luv.” He was a little taken aback by the casually thrown around endearment but his friend Yusuf had told him, that it was quite a common thing. The chemist had spent a year at university in Glasgow before finishing his degree. Arthur thought about the offer and decided to take her up on it. The jet lag was catching up with him and he wasn’t good company tonight anyway. This way he also made sure that he wouldn’t be dragged into trying some more whisky with Iain. Arthur had a feeling the guy might be the type to get the visitors drunk. Probably not a lot of drinking company around here.

His room was simple but lovely. All the walls were whitewashed with dark wooden beams around the doors and windows. There was a sheepskin-rug, a woodfired oven (that Fiona seemed to have lit earlier, thank God), a table with two chairs, a wardrobe and a nightstand. The door that led to the bathroom revealed a rather lovely claw-footed tub he was adamant to use in the morning for a proper soak. But the best thing was the dark wooden four poster bed with so many pillows on it, that it looked like a cloud. But considering how tired he was, a cot would have looked like heaven right now. He dragged himself over to the sink to wash his face and hands and by the time he was finished, Fiona knocked on the door with his food. She didn’t seem to mind that he favored a solitary meal tonight and simply told him to leave the tray in front of his door when he was finished before wishing him goodnight.

The stew was heavenly and so was the obviously homemade bread, both of which Arthur devoured in record time. Other than a massive jug of water, Fiona had also put a thimble of whisky on the tray with a note that said „Hair of the dog” and he drank both dutifully. He didn’t look at the time before he went to bed (probably) too early but he was gone as soon as his head hit the pillow.

\-------------------

  
It was still dark outside and Arthur wasn’t the least bit surprised when the clock on the nightstand read just half past 5 in the morning. But he knew himself and there was no use trying to get back to sleep now. The sun would be rising soon and he might as well take a walk around the lake and watch the sky’s colour turn. After a quick wash he bundled himself up warm and tentatively opened the door to the hallway. He didn’t need to be so cautious about noise. There were already sounds coming from the kitchen. Should have guessed that people out here rise early, especially if they take people fishing and hunting.

Fiona was already rushing about when he made his way downstairs and when he told her about his plan to take a little walk she put a thermos of steaming coffee into his hand.

„Breakfast will be ready in about half an hour, luv, but there’s no need to rush. Mr. Peterson usually never has breakfast before 8.”

Ah, Mr. Peterson must be the only other guest then. Arthur said his thanks and went outside. The air was clean and crisp and the sky had just started to turn from black to blue. Thankfully it was dry today. Arthur started walking along the shore. The lake (or loch as they called it here) wasn’t massive but still sizeable and water looked lovely while reflecting the different hues of orange, red, yellow and blue while the sun began to rise.

The last time he was outside during sunrise was when him and Mal had been out all night, dancing and clubbing, while Dom was taking care of the children. It was a night out for old time’s sake. They used to do this all the time when the three of them were still in college together. Sometimes this seemed like it was yesterday, sometimes it felt like a lifetime ago. The carelessness they had during those days certainly did. And now? Now Mal was gone, buried six feet underground after jumping from her hotel window. No one had seen it coming. They all knew that she’d been struggling a bit after James was born but her and her doctor had assured Dom that she’d gotten better. Well, apparently Mal was capable of deceiving them all.

The days until the funeral had been a blur. Arthur was so busy with keeping Dom from falling apart, helping arrange the wake and keeping the kids company that it wasn’t until the whole event was over that Arthur shed a single tear for his best friend. And after holding it together for so long for everyone else’s sake, Arthur spiraled out of control. He went on a three-day bender, keeping himself awake with all kinds of legal and not so legal substances. The only time he got some sleep was straight after he’d fucked some stranger and crashed for an hour or two at their place – never his. It only stopped when his friend and colleague Yusuf was waiting for him at his doorstep. After not showing up at work for days without a word and not answering a single call, Dom, Ariadne and everyone else had been sick with worry. Arthur was usually the reliable type. But he didn’t even get an earful from his friend. Instead, Yusuf just bundled him into his apartment and put him to bed. He was still there when Arthur woke up the next day and made him breakfast.

Thankfully his boss Saito had been more than understanding and just noted his absence down as sick days. He didn’t feel better though after his bout of self-destruction. Just a weird combination of numb and on-edge. And that’s how he found himself, 6 weeks later, at the shore of a Scottish lake in the middle of nowhere, watching one of the most beautiful sunsets he had ever seen. Some movement on the other side of the lake suddenly caught his eye. It was hard to make out from the distance but it looked like a horse. Huh, he didn’t expect that. Arthur thought they only had deer in the area and the estate didn’t advertise any horses. But what did he know. Maybe there were some wild ones in the area. He tried to get a better look through the zoom on his smartphone but when he lifted the device, the animal had gone. Oh well, it didn’t really matter.

It was fully light outside by now so he headed back to the cottage for some much needed breakfast. He hadn’t realized how famished he was. In front of the house he bumped into Iain who was surrounded by three dogs – two English Pointers and a Bloodhound.

„ Guid morn!” the man called cheerfully and waved. „Ya out and about early.”

Arthur smiled and nodded: „Morning! Couldn’t sleep. Thought I might as well make the most of it and watch the sunrise. It’s beautiful out here.”

„Aye, yer right about that, lad. Been livin’ on this island all ma life and it still surprises me sometimes.”

Arthur grunted in agreement. „Oh, by the way, do you have horses on the estate?”

Iain shook his head: „Nah mate, we don’t. We do all the huntin’ on foot. Why? Fancy a ride?”

„No, not really. Haven’t sat in the saddle since I was a boy. I just thought I’d seen one on the other side of the lake. Must’ve been a wild one then,” Arthur said with a shrug.

The gamekeeper looked at him curiously. „As far as ah know, there are nah wild horses on this island, lad. Maybe ya’ve seen a deer. Or maybe…”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to get curious: „Maybe what?”

Iain grinned and shook his head: „Ya should ask ma lass. It’s her favourite tale.”

Arthur chuckled and assured him he would, not really thinking about it for the rest of the day.

…….

Deciding on easing himself into the slow pace of life on his first day at the end of the world, Arthur didn’t really do much until dinner time. He took a long hot bath in that glorious tub, sat downstairs in front of the fireplace and had a little chat with the other guest, Mr. Peterson who had brought his own dog with him (a scruffy little Dachshund) and did some reading until his eyes fell closed. He woke just before dinner time. Arthur didn’t even need to look at the clock to know what time it was because he smelled the food even up in his room. It made his mouth water. He didn’t want to be rude or come across as anti-social so he walked downstairs to have his dinner in the dining room.

„Oh perfect! A was just about to knock on yer door, luv!” Fiona greets him.

„Good evening,” Arthur answered with a smile. „I couldn’t wait a minute longer. It smells so delicious.”

This earned him a beaming smile from the inn-keeper. „Then sit yerself down. I’ll bring the food out in a wee bit.”

Arthur nodded and turned left into the dining room. Rather than setting single tables, Fiona had just decked out the bigger communal one. He counted four place settings so apparently the hosts would be eating with them. He was absolutely fine with it since he didn’t really know what else to talk about with Mr. Peterson, whose only interests seemed to be hunting, dogs and WWII.

It turned out to be a lovely dinner. There was roast grouse, potatoes, leeks and gravy. Red wine was put on the table and consumed at a merry pace by all. After dinner Arthur got a scolding by Fiona when he tried to help her clear the table („Sit yer arse down and let me man do some work fer once.”). After a quick tidy Iain brought a bottle of whisky over and Fiona returned with some Shortbread. Both was delicious and Arthur felt better than he had in a while. Even though Mr. Peterson was going on about some tale about Dunkirk or some such.

Suddenly Arthur remembered Iain’s remark from the morning about his wife’s favourite tale.

„Sorry to be rude,” Arthur interrupted Mr. Peterson’s ramblings but the old man didn’t seem too miffed about it. Arthur turned towards Fiona: „I just remembered that I wanted to ask you something. I thought that I had seen a horse down by the lake this morning but your husband assured me, that there weren’t any around here. He also said, that maybe you’d know what I had seen there.”

He must have struck a nerve because the woman’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.

„Ooohhhhhh! I can’t believe ya saw it,” Fiona exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Iain laughed and gave Arthur a „I told you so”-look.

Now he was intrigued: „Saw what?”

„The Kelpie of course!”

When Fiona saw, that her guest was still confused she started to explain: „Kelpies are part of Scottish folklore. They are mystical horses who life in lochs and rivers. They don’t show themselves very often. Some tales say they trick people into drowning by offering them passage across the water and then throwing them off their backs but I don’t believe that. Or maybe they just do this to the bad ones. They’re mostly benign. Oh, and they can also turn into human form! There are even stories about Kelpies who have stayed that way because of love, some have been entrapped.”

Arthur was smirking at her in disbelief. „So, you’re telling me that what I’ve seen this morning was a magical horse who lives in the lake and wants to drown me?”

Fiona laughed. „Oh no, luv. I’m sure it doesn’t mean yer any harm. Probably just curious who the new visitor is.”

„Has anyone else seen it before me?”

The woman shook her head, making her curls bounce. „Nah, not since I was little. See, this place used to belong to ma granny. A spent a lot of time here as a child. Saw it once when I went swimming in the summer. Granny then told me the story about the Kelpie living in this loch.”

Of course Arthur didn’t think that this was real in any kind of way. There probably were a couple of wild horses around here that just very seldomly showed themselves. The tale was charming though.

„So what did it look like?”

„Oh, it was a beautiful Pinto horse,” Fiona said smiling. „Did it look the same to you?”

Arthur shrugged. „Couldn’t really see it. It was too far away so I just got a blurry shape. Could have been brown or black. Could have been a Pinto for all I know.” Fiona nodded at him smiling.

Arthur dreamt about swimming with horses that night.

\------------

During the next two days, Arthur decided to make the most of his surroundings. He asked Iain to show him how to fish for trout and although Arthur didn’t catch anything himself on his first day, he found the whole fishing-process highly meditative. No wonder his grandpa used to love it so much. They were mostly quiet during their time down at the lake but Arthur somehow ended up telling Iain about why he was here. Well, at least some abbreviated version of it. The gamekeeper had nodded and grunted at the appropriate moments and patted his shoulder when he was done with his tale. And although no condolences had been uttered, Arthur felt the man’s empathy more sincerely than some of the big speeches he had heard at Mal’s funeral.

The day after Arthur even decided to join Iain and Mr. Peterson on one of their deer-stalking tours but only when both men had promise that nothing would be shot while he was with them. Catching fish was one thing, but shooting at Bambi’s mum? He really didn’t need that in his life. The whole excursion was a bit of a bust anyway since the whole deer-populace of the island seemed to have taken a personal day. Instead they got drunk on the whisky they brought in their flasks. Again, Arthur felt at ease in a way that he hadn’t experienced even before his friend had taken her life.

After the deer-no-show Arthur decided to stick to the fishing rod. Yusuf would probably say that this was apt since he was an old stick-in-the-mud anyway. Which was total bullshit. Arthur knew very well how to have fun, thank you very much. He just didn’t advertise it at every opportunity. Anyway, he liked the calm down by the lake and even managed to catch a couple on his third day. With the fish lying in the bucket, Arthur decided to just lean back and drink the stout that Fiona had packed into his little picnic basket (together with some homemade pork pies and something called Tunnock’s Teacakes). He let fresh air stream through his city boy lungs and reveled in the almost eerie quiet that seemed to engulf this little corner on planet earth.

Before he knew it, tears were rolling down his face. He hadn’t even been thinking about Mal but his sadness suddenly wanted to make itself known anyway. There was something about the atmosphere that made him feel raw and exposed and since there was no one around to see him, he decided to just let the feeling wash over him. God knows enough people had told him that he was prone to bottling up his emotions. Might as well let the tears flow for once.

He didn’t know how much time had passed but he was disturbed in his moment of mourning when he heard some noise coming from the lake. There were small splashing sounds as if someone was moving slowly through water. He carefully opened his still teary eyes, fully expecting to see Iain in his fishing gear, who would probably not make fun of him for his emotional state but Arthur’s ears turned pink nonetheless. A little gasp escaped his lips when he saw what was actually moving towards him. There, in the lake stood a horse, his legs and belly still immersed in the water. Arthur almost choked when he noticed it’s coloring – it was a Pinto. The animal had stopped moving and was now regarding him, trying to figure out if it was save to come closer. It was a beautiful horse, his coat a mix of light brown and white. Its mane was golden brown and there were some water weeds stuck in it.

Arthur hadn’t noticed that he had stopped breathing, he was so mesmerized by the sight. It couldn’t be real could it? Surely, he must have fallen asleep and was dreaming again? He pinched himself and twitched at the pain which made the horse huff. Was it laughing at him? Cheeky, he thought. He was still debating whether he should reach out towards the animal and show that it was safe for it to come closer or stay the fuck where he was, on the shore. The choice was taken from him when he was ripped from his revelry by a loud barking sound. His head whipped around and he saw Mr. Peterson’s dog pelt towards him, the old man nowhere in sight. When he turned his face towards the lake again, the horse had vanished. Maybe he had gone crazy. Maybe all this crying had put him to sleep and all of this had been in his head. Or maybe …

He tried to shake it off as best as he could. The dachshund had reached him by now and was trying to get his attention. Arthur bent down and picked him up.

„Hey there buddy. What are you doing out here? Did you see something in the water?”

In answer the dog licked his face and it made him giggle. „Ah, didn’t think so. Come one, let’s get you back to your owner. He’s probably already looking for you.”

Arthur put the animal down and gathered his things. Thankfully the dog just followed him back to the house. He needed to see Fiona. Just to give her the trout for dinner, not because he wanted to tell her about his encounter of course.

\----------  
Fiona was thankful for the fish but Arthur couldn’t get a word with her since Mr. Peterson insisted on thanking him for bringing his dog back. Turns out the little rascal ran off while his owner and Iain were cleaning rifles. This way Arthur was talked into a glass of Scotch. And another. And another when Iain joined them. By the time dinner came around (Fiona had grilled the trout whole) Arthur was well and truly „sloshed“ as Iain put it. Maybe that’s why he insisted clearing the table.

At least that got him five minutes alone with the woman he needed to talk to.

„I might have seen the horse again today,” Arthur started, blushing a little not looking at Fiona.

Her eyes went wide. „Did yer now?”

Arthur nodded.

„Was it at the other shore again?”

He shook his head. „No, it was…it was closer. It came towards me in the water. I don’t know. I might have just been dreaming. I’d been…nevermind.” Arthur deflated.

The woman gave him a compassionate look. „Arthur luv, I hope you don’t mind but Iain told me about yer friend. And I’m glad that ya came here because this is a good place to mend. I dinna tell ya the last time but when A saw the Kelpie, my granpa had just passed away. We’d always been swimming together in the lake and I was thinking about him at that moment.“

Arthur looked at her, his eyes shining. Dammit, he really didn’t seem to have himself under control today. „I’m really sorry to hear that Fiona.”

She squeezed his shoulder. „It’s alright, luv. It was a long time ago. What A wanna say though is, that maybe the Kelpie can sense our distress. Maybe it wants to help.”

„Yeah,” Arthur huffed with a smile, “or maybe it wants to trick me into drowning.”

„Don’t be daft,” Fiona laughed. „What did it look like anyway? Did you get a better look?”

He nodded. „It was a Pinto.”


End file.
